


A Pocketful Of Rye

by Cerdic519



Series: The Tales Of Nowhere [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 17th Century, But they're still going at it like bunnies!, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, England (Country), F/M, London, M/M, Manumission, Minor character death (off-story), Murder, Old Castiel, Old Dean, Omega Dean, Oxford, Religious Conflict, Rye House Plot, Slavery, Treachery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the year 1683. There has been no parliament for some two years now; King Charles II has all but vanquished his political enemies, and a 'conveniently' uncovered plot is about to provide the perfect opportunity to finish them off. But a self-serving action by his brother and heir James Duke of York draws in an innocent man who is affianced to the youngest son of the semi-retired Castiel Earl of Bradstock, and the nobleman hurries to support him. There is a man who believes in blank slates, and a lady who does not really go lightly. And someone dies....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May-June 1683

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tisha_Wyman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tisha_Wyman/gifts), [Blitzdrake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blitzdrake/gifts), [Johannah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johannah/gifts).



Tuesday 29th May, 1683

Demetrius 'Misha' Milton knows that his father and papa do not really like the role their youngest son has carved out for himself, touring the burgeoning Bradstock estate and making sure it runs smoothly. Indeed, had it not been for a fortunate circumstance some eight years back, they might have tried to stop it. 

Shortly after retiring to the cottage, Castiel had decided to travel to London to sort out a problem with the small Bradstock fleet of ships. He had been considering buying an additional vessel from a fellow lord – but that had been pretty much knocked on the head when the lord in question had offered Castiel a slave he had brought back from a recent voyage, but that his wife had declined as 'damaged goods'. Worse, the slave – an alpha presumably in his thirties from his appearance - was not only severely undernourished but had also been castrated 'to stop any funny business'. Castiel gave his fellow lord an ultimatum; no deal on the ship and sell him the slave for a fair price, or the earl would ruin him. 

Castiel got his slave.

The man, whom Castiel named Johab after the angel of salvation, was soon returned to health, and he became quite attached to Misha, then in his early teenage years. Indeed, once he was back to health he filled out very well, and he became a bodyguard for the young nobleman. It was the young omega who managed to coax the man back to talking again, and discovered that he wanted to go to the Americas but had no hope of ever getting there. On learning of Johab's ambitions Castiel made him an offer; five years of working as young Misha' bodyguard, and Castiel would arrange his crossing and set him up with enough money to do very well for himself. That had been 1680 when Misha had turned eighteen and wished to travel around the estate. The omega will miss him (and the looks of horror on the faces of people when the behemoth loomed into view!) when he goes, but he knows how set the man is on emigrating, and he wants the best for him.

Misha's travels on estate business have also yielded something for he himself. Some months ago he had become engaged to a Hertfordshire merchant's son, by the name of Mark Fletcher. Despite the horror of some of his fellow nobles at his following his eldest brother and marrying 'trade' (ugh!) Misha had been happy, and there had been a surprise bonus when Mark's brother Peter had come to the Hall and caught the eye of his sister the fiery Mary Charlotte, whose family had begun to assume would never marry. The two had clashed violently over politics and religion, and Castiel had scooped the pool on when they would announce their engagement, beating an annoyed Dean by just one day. Yes, everything in Misha's garden was wonderful just now.

+~+~+

Wednesday 6th June, 1683

“It's the wrong name.”

Dean looks at his alpha in confusion. They are standing outside a magnificent new building which the earl has helped fund, and which proclaims itself to be 'The Ashmolean Museum'. (1) 

“What?” 

Castiel smiles. He and Dean rarely leave the cottage these days – he is seventy-three now, and Dean 'fifty-nineteen' as he puts it – but they have made the short trip to Oxford to see the museum that the alpha has helped set up. The omega does not like the city at all, as it reminds him of London. Give him a warm cottage any day, provided it comes with an alpha who.....”

“You are thinking about sex again.”

Damnation! Dean allows himself a mild pout. His husband chuckles.

“I am sure that we can find a nice, empty barn on our way back”, he mutters, enjoying his omega's blush as always. “I was merely remarking on the fact that the collection is the work of the Tradescant family, and that Mr. Elias Ashmole merely purchased that collection. It really is shocking that you have such a one-track mind Dean. Perhaps you need 'schooling'.”

Dean smiles as he recalls his alpha marking a quarter-century of his school for omegas in King's Linton by wearing the traditional black gown. And nothing else! The omega is truly content with his life now, living quietly away from the dramas and excitement of court life. The world can keep its kings, churchmen and politics, and he can keep his alpha and their perfect little cottage in the country. He is so happy.

He is just days away from seeing that happiness severely dented.

+~+~+

Friday 8th June, 1683

There are (Castiel fervently hopes) things he does not know about his housekeeper, although such are the number of 'interesting' contacts she has that he is sure that he is better off not knowing some (if not most) of them. Although when she asks if a friend of hers who is a landlady in Oxford might speak to him at the Hall, he does consider that slightly out of the ordinary. Then again, it is Charlie.

Mistress Golightly does not quite fit her name; indeed she looks quite capable of flattening any man whose advances she found unwelcome. She is also clearly very flustered, and Castiel insists that Charlie stays to help her calm down and, hopefully, state her business.

“I rent a couple of rooms at the back of my house for the university, noble sir”, she says, somehow managing to effect a curtsey whilst seated (Castiel is impressed). “Mr. Tanner is normal enough, but I am worried about Mr. Locke (2). 'Specially some of the company he has been keeping lately.”

Castiel does not quite see how an Oxford University student's choice of drinking partners requires his attentions, but he trusts Charlie. There has to be more to it. 

Sure enough there is.

“Mr. Locke is John Locke”, his housekeeper explains. “Writer of the sort of philosophical works that the current king Does Not Like.”

“Ah”, Castiel says. “And do you know any of these 'untoward guests', Mistress Golightly?”

“I do not know their names, noble sir”, she confesses, “but I know where they come from. I've seen more than one of them pinning on a green ribbon before entering, and they always takes it off before they leave.”

Castiel looks hopefully at his housekeeper. She does not disappoint.

“The Green Ribboners are one of the few remaining Whig groupings”, she says.

“I have read Mr. Locke's works”, Castiel says thoughtfully, “and whilst he has doubtless upset the king by speaking out against the horrors of absolute monarchy, I cannot see him siding with any one political grouping. I do not think that you would not come to me unless you considered there was some danger?”

“If it was just the visitors then I might not be so fretted, noble sir”, his visitor says. “But my neighbour, Mrs. Smith, puts up one of the city guard in her rooms. And she says that he has been asking all sorts of questions about Mr. Locke and his 'tendencies', whatever they are.”

Castiel considers for a moment. He knows both that the Whig movement may have been broken by King Charles' unexpected abandonment of them for the Tories, and also as such it is increasingly likely to lash out and attempt something, most probably against the king or his increasingly awful brother. Castiel himself considers some of the philosopher's writings a little extreme, but then that is the point of having such people. He makes a decision.

“You were quite right to bring this to my attention, Mrs. Golightly”, he says firmly. He hands her one of his cards. “I wish you to pass this on to your lodger, and tell him that should he ever need my assistance, he has only to ask. As I am sure you are aware I live across the valley now, but if Mr. Locke considers himself in any danger then he may come to the Hall at once. I will attend him immediately.”

The landlady heaves a big sigh of relief. Her chair creaks ominously, but holds. Castiel will have ot checked later, just in case.

+~+~+

“If there is a plot”, Dean says later, “you can bet your last penny that that scamp Monmouth will be involved in it, up to his pretty little neck.”

“I shall have to make inquiries”, Castiel says, grimacing. “We need the likes of John Locke to think the unthinkable, even if we do not always agree with their conclusions. But I would not bet even a penny on Monmouth, as he is sure to be involved.”

Dean grins.

“Though I might wager a small pie.....”

“Cas! Bad alpha!”

+~+~+

Wednesday 13th June. 1683

Castiel is over in the Hall to discuss the forthcoming weddings with his eldest son when Peter Fletcher arrives unexpectedly. He looks terrible.

“What has happened?” the alpha asks anxiously.

“A plot to murder the king and his brother”, the young alpha says, wiping the sweat from his brow. “The plotters were gathered at the Rye House (3) on the road to Newmarket, but there was a fire and the royal party returned over a week early. The plot is uncovered, and heads will roll.”

Castiel does not doubt that, given the Stuart proclivity for not forgiving. The king's reduction of the walls around Gloucester, the city whose defiance had frustrated his late father, had been an unnecessary and vindictive act, as had the similar deliberate sighting of the so-called 'defensive' new guns around that other centre of resistance Plymouth, half of which pointed at the city they were supposed to be there to defend. And the way that the king had allowed his followers to pursue some of the regicides, even abroad... no, this will not end well. He looks shrewdly at the young alpha.

“But there is more”, he observes, “or why would you come here in such a hurry?”

The young man nods.

“Mark was implicated in the plot”, he says miserably. “Unfairly, but the Duke of York has been at crossed swords with my father for some time after he spoke out against him in the last parliament.”

Castiel sighs. He feels increasingly that only the memories of the 'recent unpleasantness', as one newspaper had laughingly described the bloody civil wars, was keeping the country quiet, and he doubted that that would last once, as now seemed likely, James Stuart did become king.

“We will go to London first thing tomorrow and petition for the boy's release”, he says firmly.

His visitor sighs in relief.

+~+~+

Castiel is watching his omega pack for the trip to London when their son Sandalphon arrives unexpectedly. Like all their children he knocks and waits to be admitted; more than one of their offspring has learnt the hard way what failing to take that particular precaution can lead to. Poor St. George still blushes every time he sees his parents!

“We have someone at the Hall for you”, the soldier says. “A Mr. John Locke.”

Castiel sighs.

“I feared as much”, he says. “I am sure he has little or any involvement in this latest mess, but the government will not pass up a chance to silence one of its fiercest critics, as governments always have and probably always will. Still, I had prepared for such a move.” He smiles at his third son. “Sandy, how do you feel about a journey to the seaside before you resume your military career?”

+~+~+

Saturday 16th June, 1683

Castiel had sold the London house some years back to a property developer, and it had already been knocked down for redevelopment. Much of the capital was still rebuilding after the Great Fire some seventeen years back (4). Instead the alpha now rents a small house in Kensington just west of the capital, and it is here that he receives the letter directly upon his arrival. He stares at it in stony silence. Even the soothing scent of the omega draped over him cannot ease the tension he feels. This is all very wrong.

“Bad news?” Dean says quietly.

“The worst”, Castiel says simply. “Mark is dead.”

His mate steps back in shock.

“But.... how?” he asks.

“The letter from the king's secretary – not from Charles himself, I note – states that he was shot whilst attempting to escape the Tower.” Castiel frowns at the letter. “Something is not right here.”

“You should ask Ben”, Dean says at once. The omega who Castiel had rescued all those years ago had grown into a handsome young man and married a member of London's Trained Bands. “He might know something, or someone.”

“Good idea”, Castiel agrees. “We shall call on him tomorrow.”

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) The first ever university museum, dedicated to art and architecture. Later expanded to a second site, but the original building (now dedicated to science) is still there and open to the public.  
2) John Locke (1632-1704), known later as the Father of Liberalism. Most (and justly) famous for his idea of tabula rasa (Latin for 'blank slate'), the idea that Mankind did not have some inbuilt 'obey' option and that therefore government ought only to be carried out with the consent of the governed. Thomas Jefferson cited him as a key influence in the drafting of the United States' Declaration of Independence.  
3) A house just over twenty miles north-east of London, near the town of Hoddesdon in Hertfordshire. Gradually run down since under frequent changes of ownership, all that remains today is the gatehouse.  
4) The fire had not reached the area, stopping east of what is now Trafalgar Square.


	2. June 1683

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben Wolseley (né Braeden) brings news that sheds a new light on poor Mark Fletcher's death. Castiel sends John Locke off on the wrong ship, and fatefully is lied to by the King of England – not a smart move, especially for royalty. Despite the problems they have come through and are still to face, Dean is happy to be back at his and Castiel's cottage – but across at the Hall, their youngest son plots revenge on the man who murdered his fiancé.....

Monday 18th June, 1683

In the end it is Misha who is sent over to Ben Wolseley's house, only to find the omega and his husband not there. A servant had explained that they had gone out to visit someone the day before, and had presumably decided to stay overnight, although rather oddly they had not said just where they were going. Misha had left a message anyway for Ben to contact Castiel as soon as he came back.

The earl and his youngest son are reading after dinner (Dean has just finished sleeping off three slices of pie in the bedroom during which he was muttering something odd about marks and canes) when Ben is announced. He hugs his surrogate father and shakes Misha's hand.

“How are your sons doing?” Dean asks, yawning.

“All grown up and not needing us any more”, Ben smiles, wiping away a mock tear. “Donald is doing well in Norfolk, and Cassius will be coming to the end of his time working on your old estate up in Scotland in a few months. He says to thank you for recommending him and that he will thank you in person when he goes home to Gloucestershire and his family. Sorry to have missed you yesterday, but when I tell you why, I think you will understand. Though you will not like it.”

“Go on”, Castiel says.

“Geoff's brother's friend works as a guard at the Tower”, the omega says, sitting down. “I thought he might have some information as to what had happened to Mr. Fletcher – Geoff said when we heard how odd it all seemed – so we went to Stepney to see this Mr. Israel Merriweather. But he wasn't there. His sister told us that he had gone to his brother's house in Fobbing, and was in fear for his life.”

“Why?” Misha asks at once.

“That was what I wondered”, Ben says. “So Geoff and I went to Fobbing. No wonder the peasants revolted (1) from there; it's a depressing place down in the marshes. Mr. Merriweather was reluctant to speak to us, but he remembered you, father, from your helping rehouse people after the Great Fire.”

The omega takes a breath.

“Mr. Merriweather was one of four guards on duty that day, under an unpleasant alpha captain called Anthony Blair. A letter came, and Mr. Merriweather happened to receive it at the door. It was addressed to the captain – and it had the royal seal on it!”

Castiel's brows darken.

“Normally the four guards in that part of the Tower go off in twos for dinner”, Ben goes on, “but on this day Mr. Blair sent all four of them down to the local tavern 'for a break'. They got to the tavern only to find it closed for some reason, so three of them decided to go ahead to the other one at the far end of the road whilst Mr. Merriweather went back to ask if they were needed or could take a slightly longer break. He saw.....”

Ben stutters to a halt. 

“Thank you for doing this”, Castiel says gravely. “I can see how difficult it is for you.”

The omega nodded.

“Mr. Merriweather found Mr. Blair 's deputy just finishing strapping Mr. Fletcher to some sort of pillory thing - and then his commander then shot him clean in the back”, Ben said, shuddering. “It was a set-up, made to look like an escape attempt gone wrong. He – Mr. Merriweather – went back outside them came in again ten minutes later, but someone must have seen him, because the next day Mr. Blair threatened him with the same fate.”

“So the Duke has his revenge”, Castiel says darkly. “And on a totally innocent man. Very well.”

+~+~+

Tuesday 19th June, 1683

Captain Harker bows to his employer.

“Well”, Castiel asks.

“We were boarded before we were clear of the docks”, the captain says. “Eight soldiers; they searched the whole ship from top to bottom.” He looks pointedly at the earl. “For some reason they did not believe that we were 'conducting sea trials' and had forgotten to post our departure.”

“But they did not find anything untoward?” Castiel asks.

“One of them found a rat!” the captain grins. “Shrieked like an om.... like a girl!”

Castiel notices the narrow save, but chooses not to comment on it. He dismisses the captain. However unknowingly, he has served his purpose.

+~+~+

“Sandy sent a message from Dartmouth, and it reached us this morning”, Castiel tells his mate later. “John Locke was dispatched across to Brittany, and since no-one is looking for him at that end of the Channel, he should be safe now. He has enough money to make it to the Netherlands, where many of the other plotters will be aiming for. I can only hope most of them make it.”

“Once again my rebellious alpha is standing for what is right against a tyrannical ruler of the country”, Dean purrs. “I really think my alpha deserves a reward for that.”

“Not tonight”, Castiel yawns. “I really am too tired for that.”

He knows, without even looking, that Dean's lower lip is trembling as he does his Most Put-Upon Omega In The Whole Wide World Impression, and starts to count. He reaches seven before....

“You bastard! You were having me on!”

Castiel sniggers and rolls on top of Dean, whose pout is as glorious as ever.

“Sorry, beloved”, he says. “Let me make it up to you.”

And he does.

+~+~+

Wednesday 20th June, 1683

“I am sorry about Mr. Fletcher's untimely death, my lord.”

Dean watches on anxiously. His alpha, calm and collected as ever, does not visibly react. The omega notices however the almost imperceptible tightening of the shoulders, and even without the change in scent he knows. His husband is livid.

“Very untimely”, he says coolly. “I am told that he was shot trying to escape?”

There is a cold tone to his voice which registers even with some of the sycophants around the king, who look at him askance.

“He was”, the king says calmly.

“By whom, may I ask?” Castiel asks. 

His cool tone seems to register with the king, who blinks in surprise.

“A common soldier”, the king says dismissively. “He has been disciplined.”

“So if, perchance, I had come into possession of a statement signed by a witness”, Castiel says, his voice laden with menace, “a statement that far from being shot trying to escape, the man was murdered in cold blood by the captain of the Tower guard on the orders of..... someone else?”

Dean sees it, though he doubts anyone else does. The king's gaze flickers almost imperceptibly towards his brother beside him. The duke, haughty and proud as ever, steps forward.

“Are you threatening the royal personage?” he asks stiffly, looking down his nose at the earl. “This was a plot to kill us both and put my brother's bastard son on the throne. You seem to be all in favour of such a move.”

The silence is terrible. The duke hesitates, then steps back. He may be royalty, but he is a beta and Castiel is a now visibly angry alpha. The latter turns back to the king.

“I helped save your life once”, Castiel says, sounding almost sorrowful as he stares hard at his monarch. “I risked all for you. Yet this is my thanks. Farewell, your majesty. I will not attend court again.”

He turns his back on the king (which in itself is something of an insult) and walks wearily away from him, ignoring the mutterings of the shocked courtiers. Dean is glad when he reaches the end where the omega has had to wait.

“Come!” Castiel says, looking all of his seventy-three years. “We have no more business here.”

+~+~+

“Will the king take action against you for this?” Dean wonders. They are back in their Kensington house, and will make the journey home to the cottage tomorrow. The alpha shakes his head.

“He has many failings”, he says sorrowfully, “but he has not failed to reward those who helped him in his hour of need all those years ago. He will do nothing.”

“Yet he let poor Mark die”, Dean snarks.

“I would guess that the duke only told him what he had done once the boy was dead”, Castiel says angrily. “A done deal, or _fait accompli_ as they say. His brother is everything to the king, especially given the succession.”

“You think that he will succeed to throne?” Dean asks.

“Yes”, Castiel says at once. “Whether it is unopposed is another matter. I shall certainly do nothing to support him after this. I am done with the Stuarts. They can rot in hell for all I care!”

+~+~+

Friday 29th June, 1683

Although he still enjoys walking around the Oxfordshire countryside, Dean Milton rarely leaves the cottage he so loves for longer trips these days. Although he is beginning to think there are definite upsides to so doing, and not just because of the joys of coming back to their own small place in the country, but because returning after all the events of recent weeks.....

It is at times like this, when his alpha is under the greatest stress, that he really loves to be held a lot and be treated more like an omega. In the week or so since their return there have been many sessions of slow, lazy sex, and many happy hours of just holding each other on the window-seat, on the couch or on the outside bench from which they can see across the valley to their son's house, north up to Charlton and its church, and south all the way to Nowhere. And if Castiel wants to be scented and valued, well, his omega is more than happy to oblige. 

Of course no utopia is ever perfect, but about the only cloud on Dean's horizons just now is that Sandy is set to to resume his military service again. The omega supposes he should be happy that they have no civil wars in England any more, though he views the probable accession of the murderous Duke of York with more than a little anxiety. But James Stuart has only two Protestant daughters, so the danger there should he short-term. (2)

The speed of modern media never ceases to amaze Dean, for yesterday he had read in an Oxford newspaper that the government was furious over the 'escape' of philosopher John Locke, now safely abroad somewhere and doubtless working on new quasi-revolutionary tracts which would set tongues wagging everywhere. The king, it was said, was livid, especially as it was rumoured in the newspapers that the philosopher had managed to get onto one of the Earl of Bradstock's ships. Charles had sent a sharp demand for action against whichever captain was responsible, and Castiel had replied dryly that he had found the man and 'he had been disciplined'. Dean had smiled at the king's word being thrust back at him like that.

Castiel pulls his omega in closer, and Dean can feel that, yes, he too is about to get something thrust back at him. Oh his life!

+~+~+

Across in the Hall, Misha Milton is not crying. Only soft omegas cry, and he is stronger than that. He thinks of the Duke of York standing there all but gloating at his part in the murder of poor Mark, and his face darkens.

Some day. Some day, he will have his revenge.

+~+~+  
Notes:  
1) The Peasants' Revolt (1381), a popular uprising in both Kent and Essex against unfair taxation of the poor, who had been doing better because of the recent arrival of the Black Death (fewer poor = higher wages for the remainder). The revolt started when the men of Fobbing refused to pay their taxes, and ended when the gullible peasants believed King Richard II's promise to lower their taxes. Idiots.  
2) Ah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did he get his revenge? Well.... you can find out in the third and most definitely final part of the series, The Misadventures Of Misha Milton, to be published in ten daily installments, the last of which will mark what a certain bow-legged omega would call it his 'thirty-twelfth' birthday.
> 
> And stop with the damn sniggering!


End file.
